Alek Gwilym - Tumblr Posts

I’ve really loved working on your NPC’s!! This was also technically my first foray into I,Strahd characters!

The amazingly talented @spicyspell has utterly captured my game's Alek Gwilym! I cannot overstate how pleased I am with this piece, how beautiful it is, and how excited I have been all day to unveil it to my players - especially my player whose cleric is Alek and Strahd's son.

In Blood Countess, Alek Gwilym has many titles. He is Commander Gwilym, Master at Arms of Ravenloft. He is the former squire and eldest scion of Lord Argynvost. He is the avatar of the Morning Lord. Most importantly, he is Ayah, or Father, to Godfrey and Alistor Gwilym.

Alek was the son of the dragon lord, Argynvost, and his human wife, Freya. He spent his youth at Argynvostholt, training to be a knight. He even became his father's squire. However, his mother was killed by the wizards of the Amber Temple and Alek abandoned the order. He became a mercenary sell-sword and traveled far and wide. He eventually returned to the Balinok Valley to serve as a bodyguard and guide for the princess-general, Strahd von Zarovich. He was a powerful fighter and asset to the Barovian forces. After saving Strahd's life, he was inducted into her army and he rose through the ranks quickly. They fell in love and carried on an illicit affair until Strahd fell pregnant with twins and defeated the Tergic army. The boys were sent to live at Argynvostholt but Strahd was never informed of their whereabouts. Alek remained a devoted father to Godfrey and Alistor and repaired his relationship with his father while maintaining his position at Ravenloft's court as Strahd's right hand. However, Strahd became mired in her grief and obsession with preserving her power. Alek ultimately lost her but remained dedicated to her even to his own demise in the Amber Temple, where she killed him as a sacrifice to Vampyre. Alek made a deal that day, too, with the Morning Lord and agreed to be his avatar. Unfortunately, he was magically sealed away by the Dark Powers and he awaits the day that he can reunite with his sons.

In the meantime, he's tried to exert his will on the valley with mixed success. Currently, he has one (1) warlock: a nun from Krezk who is more than the sum of her parts and has sent an angel to try to heal Strahd with unfavorable results. He's trying. He really, really is. It's tough to be a god!

Especially when all he wants is to see the people he loves one more time.

I absolutely adore Alek and I am so thrilled to have art of him! I am so happy! I love his dragon scales, which look a little like vitiligo. I love the curls of his hair and the sharpness of his nose. I love his smile and the fact that when I showed my cleric, she said that he is definitely Alistor's father.

(Also, his and Strahd's portraits face in opposite directions. I can make them face each other and he looks besotted while she's looking away or I can make them face away from each other, back to back, in comparison. Hell. Yes.)

“I’d have helped you, no matter what. This did not…have to be.”

“I’m afraid it did.”

what is up stralek gang, back at it again with another shitpost featuring rahadin

Stralek bed talk

Expanding on my drawn D&D miniature collection, here's Alek Gwilym, my favorite I, Strahd character, someone who I will not need as a mini for quite a while.

Notes:

Along with needing D&D miniatures, this project is a way for me to push my character and outfit designs, to make more unique characters and armor sets. In this case, I decided to practice half plate.

Most of the small details on these designs won't show up on the final miniature, hence why the von Zarovich crest is rather simple. Once printed out, the thinner lines will disappear, rather than leave blotches of color on otherwise clean armor. That same reason is why I'm not too worried about some of the weird spots around the face.

Eventually Strahd and Rahadin will get their own miniatures, and each of them will wear similar colors, just in varying values and amounts of each. I didn't want Alek to be wearing solid red armor (that's the plan for Strahd's animated armor), so he gets a very warm grey instead.

1 - Wine

“I never drink… wine,” Alek intoned, as deeply as he could, thoroughly butchering Strahd’s native accent in dramatic caricature. He blinked, setting down his glass of the dark red liquid, and thumped a fist gently against his own chest to produce a stunted belch which left him looking a bit perplexed.

His little display would have been terribly insulting, but for the fact that it was, on all counts, simply inaccurate. Strahd reached across the relatively small table and lifted the glass from Alek’s hand. “Why do you think I stock my cellar with wine, if not to drink it?” he challenged. Strahd swirled the contents lightly, observing the slight syrupy cling about its edges.

Alek’s eyes narrowed, an eyebrow raised conspiratorially as he leaned in—or rather swayed—closer. “You do it for me, I’d bet.”

“Indeed?”

“I’ve had…” Alek fell back again, peering down at himself as though to assess whether he was, in fact, still attached to all his limbs. “...all of it,” he said vaguely.

“All of it?” Strahd echoed, a faint smile pulling at one side of his mouth.

Alek’s elbow thumped against the table top, and he jabbed a finger in Strahd’s direction. “’Cept that. Drink it, or I’m right.”

It was true that Strahd did not often imbibe, and when he did it was very little. He found that his head ached too quickly, and he had seen the ill effects of alcohol on some of their eldest comrades. Altogether, the risks often outweighed the benefits. But Strahd could easily stoop to this particular challenge. He raised the glass to Alek, then drank deeply from it, tipping his head back. He deposited the empty vessel back into Alek’s waiting hand, whose dilated gray eyes were now wrought with suspicion.

Alek looked into the glass, then back at Strahd. “I’m still right,” he decided.

Strahd did not bother to argue. Alek was drunk. And what did it matter who drank most of the wine in his cellar, so long as Strahd had given it freely? Exquisite drinks were a feature of etiquette, a tool in diplomatic relations, denoting a status of wealth and refinement, which often served to inspire awe or intimidation, depending on the visitor. That anyone appreciated Strahd’s selection beyond that was of little consequence.

Alek’s finger absently traced the rim of the glass, stationed once again on the table. Strahd was pulled out of his musings by the eerie feeling that he was being appraised at this moment.

“Are you satisfied?” Strahd asked dryly.

An easy grin lit upon Alek’s face. “Of course.” He added, cryptically, “Some get better with age.”

Then Alek rose from his chair, managing to remain mostly steady in doing so. “I had better leave you to…” He waved vaguely about the room. “...before I do something foolish.”

“I’m afraid it’s too late for that,” said Strahd.

Alek balked at this news, and then he laughed, sheepishly. “Forgive me, then.” He leaned on the table, scooping up Strahd’s hand from its surface to press his lips against Strahd’s knuckles. Strahd’s heart skipped. His mind seemed to be at once racing and absent of thought. The gesture was unusual between them.

“Good evening, my lord” Alek said with a flourish, further baffling the incomprehensible moment.

Alek had made it halfway to the door when a soft correction of “...Strahd” reached his ears.

He paused, glancing back at Strahd over his shoulder, expression lopsided but fond.

“I know.”

Then Strahd was left alone, with a vague feeling of driftlessness and a budding headache. Resting his elbows on the table before him, Strahd pressed his knuckles to his lips.

* * *

[Ao3 collection]

[prompts list]

To CoS DMs,

What sort of stuff do you make a point of including when changing Strahd's diary?

I've never been fond of 5e's handout, it feels far more like a lore drop than a personal diary, and while using I, Strahd would be nice, I've made too many changes to the lore to use it as is. (not to mention that my players and I are all busy, and won't have the time to read a full novel)

I've outlined the key elements that need to be included, I just need to pad it out a bit.

Thank you for any help (:

My current outline is under the cut (:

cw for canon typical depression and violence

Taking Castle Ravenloft:

Summary of the arrival at the castle, naming it after his mother, in her honor

With the death of their parents, Sergei will be coming to the keep

Introduction to Alek and Rahadin, the two working and training together

Meeting Tatyana:

Introducing our sexy lamp

Passing mention of Sergei giving up his place in the clergy for her

Focus on Tatyana's physical traits, her hair in particular. As much as the lamp thing is a joke, she isn't important to Strahd as a person, only a prize. As Strahd is really the only source of information on Tatyana for the party, she doesn't really get much in terms of development.

Alek has raised concerns once again about the assassin

Tatyana & Sergei, Wedding Prep:

Strahd moping while Sergei and Tatyana have a good time.

Mention of Alek going to the Amber Temple for research purposes, to find something that might help the situation.

Night Before the Wedding:

Strahd is starting to hear whispers

Alek and Rahadin have been patroling the castle, questioning the guards, etc.

Wedding Night Aftermath:

Quiet castle, only him and Rahadin alive.

Some sacrifices had to be made, but Alek is still alive, gifted to Rahadin, so that the two can remain brothers.

Alek died as he does in I, Strahd, but is the first Strahd brings back from the dead. He botches it though, and Alek returns as a Nosferatu, rather than a spawn. Strahd is denying the problem, shrugging off the issue as best as he can. He's good at it.

Meeting Marina:

The only section I've fully written out so far, but still up for revisions.

I returned to Castle Ravenloft late yesterday evening with no issue. Rahadin was right, the girl looks exactly like my dearest Tatyana did, with the same red hair and bright eyes. I do not think I know the entirety of what happened to her in the years since her death in the Mists, but she did not remember who she, or perhaps more importantly, Sergei or I, was.

Now, she goes by Marina, and is the adopted daughter of the burgomaster in Berez, Lazlo Berezovich, who plans to marry her in just a few years. Of course, i cannot have such things happen to Tatyana, no matter what name or face she wears now, and I have already begun to teach her of her old life. She seemed invested, though that might simply be due to the prospect of minor nobility taking romantic interest in her. Still, even with having only spent a night with her, the results seem promising. My brother will not have any influence this time, and at long last, Tatyana will finally be mine.

Rahadin also brought news of the Abbot, the “angel” having taken up residence in the old monastery in Krezk, where I had found Leo Dilisnya. While Tatyana is of the highest priority, I will have to visit Krezk soon, to finally welcome our newest guest. Even if his healing magic has been greatly exaggerated, his presence should provide at least some degree of entertainment for myself, and perhaps some assistance for Barovia’s people.

Death of Marina:

Most recent event in journal, so that it works out when Strahd leaves the diary buried under the monument to Marina. A good segment of unmarked pages are left at the end of the journal.

Cursing the men who killed Marina, description of their bodies after their deaths.

omg I finally have a chance to reblog this~

Some fun stuff I adore: (:

I love the changes to Alek's body post mortem, the changes in his skin tone (this is the result of blood settling in the body), and the skin drawing away from the wound on his neck and the stiffness of the body. From what I can tell, both are accurate to life and the timeline decomposition follows. (: Rigor mortis and liver mortis both set in as early as 2 hours after death.

Strahd moves Alek's hair out of his face! Strahd tears his linen(!!) shirt to bandage the wound on Alek's neck! He wipes blood from Alek's chin! They are acts of intimacy done out of care and in spite of death! It makes little difference, and Alek may never truly understand it anymore but it's there in spite of everything!

The crypt would be his bed, however long he sleeps!! Dedication after death!

"The sight remained sharp, but the personality inside was retreating. Perhaps bracing itself against the back wall of his skull."

The similarities and contrasts between Alek and Strahd, both in their teeth and the wounds on their necks, but also struggling to speak, around either blood or teeth.

Alek lets Strahd examine the wound! Despite all that has happened, he still trusts him.

Everything is so physical and nothing is clean or pretty. Alek's body is still damp, his hair is matted with blood and water. The carcass is easier to move after more blood is added. The blood and bodies in the castle will smell with time. Strahd struggles to feed Alek at first, and smears blood across the dead man's face. Eventually spit joins it. They're small details, but its grounding, and the imperfections make it so much more intimate.

12 - Pale

[Based on @terrified-spider's CoS concept for Alek 🫀]

There was no amount of vengeance Strahd could wreak on Leo Dilisnya's remaining men that would bite back this other feeling, which rose like black bile in his chest. No amount of blood would drown it. No amount of violent rage, with sword or claw or hammered fist would tamp it down. And no amount of dragging, throwing, pacing, staring, teeth grinding could wear it out either.

Alek's body still lay in his closet.

Strahd von Zarovich was covered in gore. Castle Ravenloft was smothered in red ichor and corpses, and soon enough it would be rancid in the great hall. But the doors to his own quarters opened on a pristine setting. Aside from the knowledge and the slowly congealing filth Strahd tracked in with his soles, the room belied a quiet night like any other. It would not have seemed out of place, in that moment, to peel off his soaked shirt and sit by the hearth as though he had just come in out of the rain.

The image of Alek Gwilym, snow-damp and wind-chapped, hopping on one foot and then the other to pull off his boots and seat himself down by Strahd's fire, sprang unbidden into his mind.

Regret was its name, this other dark emotion which threatened to throttle him if he could not think of a way to appease it.

Perhaps he could bleed it out. Surely he had consumed enough life for two men. More, in fact. And if he could give back to Alek the blood he had taken… would Alek's life then be restored to him, the way it had worked in Strahd the night before?

The only way out of this mess now was to trudge ahead and try to find the other side. Strahd could not fall backward in time. Could not undo his own reckless mistakes. So, he conceived of only the next best possible option, and moved stoically forward with it.

Strahd pulled the carcass of his old friend out of its slumped position in the closet, wedging his hands under Alek’s arms to drag him out onto the middle of the floor, heavy and stiff. A light sheen had formed on the cold and pallid skin, making it clammy to the touch. The creases of Alek’s clothing were still damp with rain and sticky with coagulated blood, his matted hair plastered to the side of his face and neck. His dry, clouded eyes cracked open to stare mournfully at nothing.

But maybe it was not too late.

Strahd knelt down beside the corpse, to pick the soiled hair free of Alek’s sharp features, pushing it aside to reveal the wound in his throat. Made by the man’s own knife, the cut was clean and straight, but in the time that had passed, the skin around it had begun to shrink back and the incision gaped, revealing glossy strands of mutilated tissue and the severed vein beneath. Strahd prodded gently at the wound, as if to close it up again, but the membrane moved too readily and tore. He flinched back.

Strahd retreated to the table in his study, where the accursed book in dark crimson leather binding still sat. His dagger lay there, sheathed, beside it. Strahd picked up the dagger, and flipped the book open. Its page still blurred, the inscriptions swimming before his eyes. Page after page of useless chaos. He closed it once again, with a delicate touch more carnally vindictive than if he had picked it up and flung it across the room.

Kneeling over Alek again, Strahd pulled the dagger clear and set its sheath down on the floor. He set the blade against his wrist. “Don’t look at me that way,” he muttered, and drew the thin edge up, along a brief span of his forearm.

Blood welled and dripped from his arm, but the wound closed too quickly as he brought it close to Alek’s face. Setting his own jaw, Strahd pried Alek’s mouth agape. He pressed the blade into his wrist again and left it there, leveraging his own flesh open to spill the contents of his life down Alek’s throat.

Alek’s mouth filled with blood until it spilled from the corner of his lips and dribbled over his cheek. Strahd cursed. He dipped his fingers into the pool between Alek’s jaws to move his tongue. Blood continued to stream down over his hand, like a potter adding slip to the contents of his turning wheel, pulling a vessel up out of a heap of mud, until it was clear that Alek’s body would not take more, no matter what he did to maneuver it, and the waste flowed over his chin.

Strahd examined Alek’s face. Carefully, he checked the corpse’s eyes. He bent his ear close to listen for breath, and watched the gaping wound on Alek’s neck fail to recover. No color beyond the fresh haphazard smears of red upon his skin returned to those sharp features. Strahd’s stern gaze did little to convince the body to animate.

Irritation simmered at his own foolishness. Strahd cleaned the dagger and tucked it back into its sheath. Perhaps it would take time, he thought. Perhaps…

He looked to the window, where the barest light of creeping dawn had begun to turn the black sky gray.

Perhaps tomorrow, then.

Strahd picked up Alek’s body, now more limber than it had been, and hefted it over his shoulder. Holding fast to the man’s long legs, he descended to the catacombs and laid the body down inside a crypt. Whatever happened, this would be his bed, for as long as he would sleep. In the cave-like darkness, Strahd watched again for any sign of movement. Just as gingerly as he had opened them, Strahd closed Alek’s eyes again. He positioned Alek’s hands over his stomach, as though he really had just fallen asleep, their blood on his face be damned.

. . .

Strahd woke from his own deathlike slumber to the sounds of war. He leapt to his feet, senses alert, adrenaline high, before he could remember all that had happened. He snatched up his dagger, the only weapon near to him, and didn’t question why he had been lying in the catacombs—only accepted it as a fact of the moment, and stalked toward the dungeons, where he heard the voices of men shrieking in abject terror.

And only then did he remember who the occupants of his dungeons were, and why they were there.

He rounded a corner and stopped short. For a flash of an instant, relief shot through him, for there before him was the back of Alek Gwilym, standing on his own two feet.

But he also had his arm shoved through the bars of a cell door, and at his feet lay one of Strahd’s prisoners, the face mutilated and horror-stricken, the throat ripped out. The other man inside had ceased to scream and was blubbering instead, pressed bodily against the back wall of his cage.

“Alek.” The prisoners went quiet at the sound of Strahd’s voice, muffling their already helpless whimpers.

Alek’s face turned toward him. His eyes, now paler than ever before, had an animal wildness about them, but their pupils locked on Strahd, boring into him quick and sharp like arrows.

It was him, then. And yet… it was not.

Alek slipped his arm out of the bars. The ends of his fingers were like claws, which clacked against the iron. As he turned more fully into view, Strahd noticed other changes—and lack thereof, not least of which the wound in his throat, which remained raw and open, catching on the collar of his clothing when he moved. But Alek’s teeth, like his claws, had lengthened. Unlike Strahd’s own fangs, which could be easily hidden, the ones in Alek’s maw were long and sharp, jutting out past his lip. And it wasn’t just his corner teeth; those were the shortest of the lot, far surpassed by the vicious, almost rodent-like incisors.

Strahd fell back by only half a step, but it was enough.

With a furious yell, Alek launched himself at Strahd. He was fast and strong, and Strahd staggered as Alek barreled into him, baring those hideous teeth and lunging for his throat. Strahd’s heels scraped across the stone floor with the force of the impact, but kept his footing. He was strong, too. If he were still human, he would have been dead in a moment.

Instead, with great force of his own, he heaved Alek back and drew his dagger. They fought, Alek swiping at Strahd with his claws. Cuts and parries with the dagger. Strahd ducked and weaved, where Alek seemed to be singularly focused and all too clumsy about it. Alek’s hands and arms opened up with wounds that didn’t bleed and were slow to heal—but they did heal, Strahd noted. He glanced at Alek’s neck again.

That moment of distraction opened him to Alek’s raking fingers. The claws slashed across Strahd’s own throat. Strahd choked. The dagger clattered to the floor. His hands flew up to brace against Alek’s chest again, to push him back as he dove toward the blood which flowed down over Strahd’s own collar. Alek snarled at him. Strahd gurgled, staring Alek down while he waited for the wounds to close. He coughed, and cleared his throat.

“That’s enough,” Strahd said.

To his relief, Alek stepped back, though he was seething, the blood he had already drunk foaming on his parted lips. His jagged hands hung limply at his sides.

He made a horrible, muffled lisping sound that might have been Strahd’s name.

“You’re angry,” Strahd said.

Alek practically hissed.

“You are hungry.”

Alek turned his razor gaze on the nearest cell. The man cowering inside it looked frantically between the two monsters. Strahd produced the key.

“No… no, please.” The man’s words cracked between a whisper and a voice. Only minutes prior, this had been the only thing he wanted—more than anything—for that cell door to open. But now he couldn’t think of anything he wanted less. “My lord, I beg you,” he pleaded. “Don’t.” 

Strahd unlocked the door.

“No. No, no, no! Please—god, no!”

He watched Alek descend on the prisoner, rending the throat with his teeth as he had with the first. Strahd felt no small degree of annoyance that Alek had stolen that recompense from him, but he supposed that Alek was also deserving of the opportunity. While he slurped, Strahd regarded the rest of his collection in the adjoining cells. They all cowered, watching with wide eyes and bated breath, their hearts thrumming like drums in his ears.

He unlocked each of the barred doors. “Go on,” he said gently. “Run.”

The people eyed each other warily. Seeing no better alternative, they slunk past him cautiously and padded quickly through the doors, glancing at Alek’s hunched and preoccupied form in the shadows on their way out. Perhaps the prisoners thought to grasp at a fragment of hope in that dark dungeon, when the cursed Count Strahd had suddenly thought to exercise his benevolence and spared them from such a gruesome fate.

Little did they know.

Strahd and Alek set upon them like a wild hunt. Strahd quickly drank his fill, but Alek kept going. He was a ruthless creature, running them down one by one and savaging each with great frenzy, until there were no living humans left to find.

Only when half a dozen men at least had all been devoured and wrung dry did Alek seem to have the capacity to calm himself. His gait changed, and he seemed to stand a little taller. He scoured the immediate area as though he were back on patrol. Then he caught sight of Strahd again, and his expression seemed almost… cheerful, if not a bit embarrassed. The look in his milky eyes was somewhat more familiar, if not the grin itself.

Strahd went to him. Alek looked as though he had something to say, but he shrugged his shoulders, at a loss. His lips struggled around the new configuration of his teeth.

And then he rubbed his neck, and winced. Perplexed, he touched the spot again, dabbing at it with the heel of his hand.

Strahd gestured, and Alek let his hand fall away. He lifted his chin for Strahd to better inspect what was bothering him. It was the wound in his throat. Strahd frowned. It had healed somewhat at the farthest ends, though not nearly enough for the kind of regenerative properties that Alek should possess, especially after such a feast. He had scratched it with those claws of his, and now the edges were ragged.

Seeing that his own shirt had been torn from his duel with Alek earlier, Strahd ripped away a strip of the linen and wrapped it securely around Alek’s throat. He wasn’t sure what good first aid would really do in this situation, but it might at least prevent the wound from tearing open further.

Even as he did so, he noticed Alek’s eyes begin to glass over again. The sight remained sharp, but the personality inside was retreating. Perhaps bracing itself against the back wall of his skull.

Strahd wiped a bit of bloody spittle from Alek’s chin. It made little difference.

He dared to wonder, for the first time in many years—if not, indeed, the whole of his life…

What have I done?

* * * [Ao3 Collection] [prompt list by @syrips]

23 - Masquerade

Surprise! No words, only sketch. Alek in a wolf mask. And Strahd's pauldrons/mantle situation. He borrowed it. :3

Here's a preview for my addition to @curseofsergei's Curse of Strahd zine, Memento Mori!

I've had a wonderful time participating, and can't wait for the zine to be out! (:

Along with my main piece, I've also been working on some of the formatting art, and will post that soon too! (:

I got to participate in the Secret Strahd/Santa on the Misthoppers Discord Server! (:

I was lucky enough to draw @irishandrogyne's Caspian! A reincarnation of Alek!

This was super fun to be a part of; Irishandrogyne, I hope you like it! (:

'Cause these hands Build and break, just as you ask they do And these bones Precious scars there, left defending you

Mi Capitán, Kiltro

Check out the full zine here: @mementomoristrahdzine!!

I keep thinking about the trip back from the Amber Temple...

"SEE HOW THE MOST DANGEROUS THING IS LOVE."

Strahd and Alek for @terrified-spider

Hero Forge models by him.

Posing, etc. by Me

Finally got around to drawing my version of Alek alive! (: Based off William Etty's "Male Nude, with Arms Up-Stretched" (:

One Lady Alek Horngaard for @hot0sauce :3 I love her dearly, I woke up this morning and the first thing I thought of was her (:

*Stares at him like a widow waiting for her husband to return from the sea*